this is not a taxi



Come over to the window, my little darling,
I’d like to try to read your palm.
I used to think I was some kind of Gypsy boy
Before I let you take me home.

the only paleness i would like in my life,
my thighs.
darkness in wardrobe
colors in nature
the vibrance of true company;
courtney love to holler lou from a mangled car stereo;
your eyes which turn to honey in peripheral sunlight.
a kind of narcissism which grasps the underexposed & ferries me to heightened reality.









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